


In the Fullness of Time

by rockymountainvixen



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Borderline Classist Language, Child Abuse, First Meetings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Violence, past angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockymountainvixen/pseuds/rockymountainvixen
Summary: When a fight leads to unintentional magical consequences, Douxie has a painful secret exposed. Prompting him to share part of his past to his friends.Or, the tale of how Merlin and Douxie first met.
Relationships: Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Merlin (Tales of Arcadia)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 117





	1. Today

**Author's Note:**

> Halfway through watching Wizards for the first time, I came up with an idea for how Merlin and Douxie met. I liked it so much that it stuck with me even after I saw their canon meeting, so here we are. For the sake of this story Merlin didn't die, and they were able to defeat Bellroc and Skrael by locking them in the Darklands (and while I'm at it Draal is alive and is spending his honeymoon with Nomura wrestling alligators in the New Jersey sewers).
> 
> Shout out to YellowMagicalGirl for giving me the kick in the pants to get this story off the ground and Archaeopter-ace for the title.

Douxie ducked to the side to avoid the fireblast “Jim, on your right!”

Jim nimbly doged another fireblast and used Excalibur to vault over a fallen tree, continuing pursuit of their quarry without missing a beat. 

The Warlock swore and tried to turn and retreat. Only to come face to face with Toby, Steve, and Claire. The boys wielding their hammer and axe while shadows flickered at Claire’s fingertips. 

“Going somewhere Buttsnack?”

The Warlock made a mad dash in the opposite direction, but was instantly blocked by Krel’s serrator.

They all closed the gap on the increasingly anxious looking Warlock. Douxie summoning his staff as they moved in “It’s over, there’s nowhere for you to run. Surrender and we’ll go easy on you,”

The Warlock narrowed his eyes and growled “I will  _ not  _ yield my power to that blasted coward Merlin. Not in this life, or the next,”

Douxie’s eyes widened as he realized what the Warlock was about to do.

“ _ Everyone get back! _ ”

He slammed the end of his staff on the ground, forming a shield around the Warlock just as he started to chant.

Less than a second later the Warlock was consumed in a ball of white fire, the shield around him swelling and straining as Douxie struggled to contain the blaze.

Thinking quickly, Claire summoned a portal on the ground inside Douxie’s shield, siphoning some of the white hot energy away.

Their combined efforts had an impressive effect but it wasn’t enough.

Douxie’s shield shattered, the Warlock erupted with a blinding flash of light and a concussive wave. Blasting them all into the trees like leaves in a gale.

Head swimming, Douxie blinked to clear his vision, slowly managing to detangle himself from the roots and shrubbery. It didn’t feel like he’d been injured too badly, but something felt...off. At first he thought he was just recovering from the blast, but upon standing he immediately knew something was seriously wrong. And when he raised a hand to pull a loose twig out of his hair, Douxie froze when he saw that his shirt was practically falling off his arm. A quick glance up and down revealed the rest of his clothes now fit in the same baggy manner.

But it wasn’t so much that his clothes had gone from small to extra large, more like Douxie himself had gone from nine hundred and nineteen to four or five.

“Oh fuzzbuckets,”

Even as he spoke he cringed at his higher, lisping voice. From around the clearing he saw everyone else groan and get to their feet. It soon became apparent that Douxie wasn’t alone in his predicament.

“Guys,  _ guys! _ The Warlock dude made everything bigger!” a much smaller Steve wailed, trying and failing to lift his axe.

Rather than bother to try and move his now oversized hammer, Toby opted for the simpler option of shrinking it down and tucking it into his pocket “Actually I think we got smaller,”

Krel sat on the ground, blinking at his four stubby, childish limbs “Kleb,”

Douxie had never heard the Akiridion word before, but based on the context he could give a pretty good guess as to its meaning.

Once she finished helping Jim up, Claire turned towards Douxie “What happened, why are we all fun-sized now?”

“Our friend here,” Douxie gestured to the smoking crater in the ground, all that was left of the Warlock “Rather than get taken to Merlin and have their contraband magic stripped away, chose to unleash it all at once and try to take us all out,”

He picked up his staff from where it had fallen “We were able to dampen it, which is why we’re not ash right now, but I have no idea what they were juicing themselves with, or how to undo it,”

The blue stone in the head of his staff flickered as he tried to summon his magic, only to have it elude him. With a sigh he lowered it “And being tiny like this, I don’t have much power,”

“What! Are we stuck like this?! I can’t win Spring King again if I’m all shrimpy, they won’t even let me be a duke!”

“For once I agree with the oaf. I will  _ not _ be small again, and I refuse to let Aja see me like this,”

“Calm down guys,” Douxie knitted his brows and tried to tuck his staff away, a normally easy task made monumentally difficult by his lack of size and power “We just need to get back to Merlin and he can help us figure this out,” 

He allowed himself a small grin as the staff finally reduced back into his cuff, with no small amount of effort on his part, only to swear when the cuff nearly slipped off his arm. Douxie glanced at both wrists before sighing and slipped both the cuff and bracelets off, stuffing them into his pocket. Better to take them off now than to have them fall off later and get lost. But still he almost felt naked without them.

Jim tugged at Excalibur’s hilt with a frown “But what about our weapons? We can’t carry them back like this, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave them out here,”

“I’ll do it,” Claire’s sclera darkened as two small portals formed beneath Excalibur and Toothache, ferrying them away. Less than a second after the weapons vanished Claire’s eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the ground.

“That...that took a lot out of me,” she panted as Toby and Jim helped her to her feet.

Douxie hurried up to check on her. Much to his relief while she was sweating with exhaustion, her eyes were focused and clear and her nose wasn’t bleeding “Ok, no more magic. Our bodies just aren’t up to it right now,”

“Wait, does that mean we have to go back on foot?” Steve said incredulously.

“Unfortunately yes,”

“Aww man,”

“Double kleb,”

“C’mon guys,” Jim said while heading to the front of the group with Douxie “The sooner we start the sooner we get back, and the sooner we get back the sooner we get back to normal,”

With only minimal grumbling, the group set out through the woods. Jim and Douxie in the lead.

They stumbled their way home through the roots and undergrowth, struggling with shorter, weaker limbs. As they went, Douxie tried to come up with a likely explanation for their condition. It couldn’t be a de-aging spell, greater Wizards than that Warlock had tried and failed to obtain eternal youth. What if it was a spell intended to do something else entirely but had gone wrong? Maybe the Warlock had tried to cast a spell to strip them of all their abilities but it went haywire when--

“Hey Doux,” Claire spoke up, shattering his train of thought “What’s that, on your wrists?”

Douxie stopped in his tracks, hands unconsciously going to cover his wrists; his heart plummeting like a stone down into the bottom of his stomach. 

How could he have been so careless? He didn’t have the bracelets or cuff to cover them any more, and he’d forgotten that they’d been a  _ lot  _ more noticeable at this age.

The rest of the group stopped to, perturbed by his reaction.

Krel squinted “Are those...scars?”

Douxie bit his lip, tightening the grip on his wrists.

Jim’s expression went from curious to soft “Hey it’s cool, you don’t have to tell us,”

“Yeah,” Steve piped up “If you say it’s none of our business, it’s none of our business,”

Claire’s face flushed “Sorry, forget I asked,”

Krel and Toby chimed in with similar reassurances.

Hearing them all try to comfort him, the subject of the marks on his wrists willing to be dropped as quickly as it was brought up; heavy, not unpleasant, emotion settled in Douxie’s chest. 

These were his comrades, more than that his friends. They’d fought side by side and he trusted them with his life. 

He could trust them with this to.

“No….it’s...it’s ok,” he pried his fingers away from his wrists, wincing as the marks underneath were exposed “It’s just….a hard story to tell,”

Empathy washed over Jim’s face “You don’t have to tell us if you--”

“It’s ok,” Douxie cut him off “I want to tell you,”

He took a deep breath as they all looked at him, expectantly but patiently.

“I got these,” Douxie started slowly “I got these when I was the age I appear to be now…..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Content warning for mentions of cannibalism)
> 
> For the magic system I'm setting up in this story there are functional differences between a Wizard and a Warlock. A Witch/Wizard is someone with innate magical abilities, whether they came naturally, like Douxie, or developed after contact with the magical world, like Claire. A person without magic of their own that still uses magical tools and objects would be referred to as an Alchemist.
> 
> Warlocks occupy a dark middle ground between the two. Warlocks are those that lack intrinsic magical abilities of their own, but consume or inject themselves with the essence of other magical creatures in order to gain their powers. These artificially gained magical abilities fade over time, so Warlocks constantly need to replenish themselves with outside magical sources. There are literally thousands of ways for a Warlock to accomplish this, but the most common method is by directly cannibalising a Witch or Wizard. So while the words Warlock and Cannibal are not synonymous within magical communities, they share all of the same negative connotations.
> 
> The main point is that while being a Warlock doesn't make one inherently 'evil', the steps and ethical choices a person has to make to become a Warlock and to maintain that status informs a lot about their willingness to harm others for their own gain.
> 
> This won't come up in the rest of the story, I just wanted to elaborate on some of the worldbuilding.


	2. Years Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags for this chapter, things get pretty intense.

Hisirdoux sat on his heels, arms wrapped around his bent knees, staring intently at a frog perched on a rock directly in front of him. The frog stared right back, it’s gangly green limbs tensed and ready to spring. The slightest motion from Hisirdoux would send it bouncing away.

He willed himself to stay as still as a statue, but not because he wanted the frog to stay.

Every now and again Hisirdoux would get a buzzing feeling, like having a nest of bees in his head. Whenever it happened his fingers tingled and the edges of his vision went blurry. After a while Hisirdoux figured out that when he focused on the buzzing he could pull and tug it, making the tingling and blurriness get better or worse before it eventually faded away, only to come again days or hours later.

The buzzing had been coming and going for as long as Hisirdoux could remember, flaring up when he least expected it and vanishing just as quickly. Now, when the buzzing had come on good and strong, Hisirdoux wanted to see just how far he could push it.

To see if he could make the buzzing touch something else besides him.

He kept his eyes locked on the frog, trying to push the cold tingling out of his fingertips towards it. Not much, just a tap to send it hopping away.

The frog’s eyes bore into his; brown meeting amber.

Hisirdoux forced himself to ignore the numbing chill slowly spreading up his arms and pushed even harder.

Move.

The frog blinked at him curiously.

_Move_.

It let out a contented croak.

Everything around him besides the frog was a dizzy blur. His vision was swimming and his hands were losing feeling, but Hisirdoux didn’t dare let up. This was the strongest the buzzing had ever come over him and he didn’t know how long it would stay away once it left.

No one ever believed him when he told them about the buzzing, but if he could touch something else with it they would _have_ to believe him.

He had lost feeling in his arms and an unbearable chill had taken into his chest. It felt like he might faint, but Hisirdoux forced himself to keep concentrating on the frog, not even daring to breath.

_Move_ frog.

It croaked again.

“Hisirdoux!” 

Concentration shattered, Hisirdoux fell back on his backside, the buzzing gone with a puff. The frog, startled at the commotion, hopped away into the bushes. Heart sinking from his failure, Hisirdoux nevertheles got to his feet and scurried over towards the barn. 

He stopped in his tracks just outside the door, only poking his head inside. No going into the barn, he was too young. The last boy his age who’d tried had gotten a box to the ears.

“Yes father?”

His father stepped out from one of the stalls and came up to him, carrying a wooden pail in his hands.

“I need you to take this milk over to your mother and the other women over at old Gurdy’s house, you understand?”

He nodded “Yes father,”

Hisirdoux held out his arms to accept the pail, but his father held it back and fixed him with a stern look “No spilling any of it this time, you hear?”

A flush spread across his cheeks “Yes father,”

“Good,” with that his father handed over the pail and headed back into the barn.

Now left alone with his task, Hisirdoux carefully adjusted his grip on the pail, turned, and took his first steps over towards old Gurdy’s house. 

He wasn’t going to spill a drop this time, he was going to carry this whole pail all the way there all by himself, and then old Gurdy would pinch his cheeks and croon about how big he was getting.

Hisirdoux didn’t like it when old Gurdy pinched his cheeks, but mother and father said she was his esteemed elder and he had to tolerate it.

The milk sloshed against the sides of the pail as he stepped over a tree root. Biting his lip, Hisirdoux tightened his grip on it and kept going. The pail wasn’t so heavy he struggled to carry it, but it was so very full, he had to take each step very carefully so the milk didn’t come splashing out.

His heart gave a delighted leap when he saw he was over halfway there, but the pail seemed to get heavier as he went on.

The edges of the wood dug into his fingers as he tried to go faster without jostling. He wanted to readjust his grip again, but if he did that he might drop it.

And if he lost a whole pail of milk there would be no supper for him.

He had to get it all the way there. Without spilling. He couldn’t spill again. If he spilled his mother would know and she would scold him again for always being clumsy and messy. And then she would tell his father and he would grumble and glower about what a useless, blundering son he had.

It wasn’t like he wanted to be clumsy and messy, but it seemed like no matter how hard he tried Hisirdoux always made a mess of things.

But this time he would do better.

He wasn’t going to lose so much as a drop of milk. He was going to carry it all the way there and show his mother that he could be clean and neat and reliable, he wouldn’t even grimace when old Gurdy pinched his cheeks.

Hisirdoux focused entirely on the pail, not even looking where he was going. Trusting his feet to carry him the right direction as all of his concentration went into keeping the pail steady.

Then the familiar prickling feeling crept back in.

His stomach dropped.

Not now. _Please_ not now.

Despite his furious pleading the buzzing steadily rose, tingling across his skin and at the corners of his eyes, stronger than it had been earlier; stronger than it had ever been before. His entire body was cold and jittery all over, it felt like his skull was full of hornets.

Hisirdoux forced himself to ignore it and concentrated on moving towards old Gurdy’s house in the distance.

It wasn’t even visible through the blurriness in his eyes, he was barely able to feel the pail in his hands past the icy tingling. It took everything he had just to stay standing.

He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill.

Hisirdoux said those words over and over again to himself as he fought past the buzzing and struggled to move forward with the pail.

He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill.

Biting hard on his lip, the sensation scarcely able to cut through the icy tingling in his skin, Hisirdoux kept going. He couldn’t bear to fail again and see the disappointment in mother and father’s eyes. He just couldn’t!

_He would not drop, he would not spill. He would not drop, he would not spill._

All of a sudden he stumbled on an uneven patch of ground and the pail flew from his arms.

His heart shot up into his throat, buzzing swelling so loud everything else faded away. Without even thinking, Hisirdoux shot his arms out towards where he thought the pail might be in a desperate attempt to keep it from falling.

Suddenly the buzzing vanished with a pop.

Hisirdoux swayed, blinking in surprise, unused to being able to see and feel clearly again. As he slowly came back to his senses, he realized that the buzzing hadn’t quite vanished after all. It had condensed into his hands; cold, sharp, and clear as a winter morning, but all the numbness and discomfort were gone. And much to his delight, he could still feel the dense lacquered wood of the pail, but no longer as heavy as before.

Still a little unsteady on his feet, he looked down only to freeze. His hands, still ablaze with the buzzing, were surrounded by shining, sky blue light.

He blinked in surprise, transfixed by the strange shimmering blue surrounding his hands.

But wait, if there was nothing in his hands but light why could he still feel the pail?

Hisirdoux looked back up, letting out a gasp as he did. The pail was floating in midair right in front of him, surrounded by the same blue light that covered his hands.

Stunned, he looked back down at his hands, then the pail, then his hands again.

He could still feel the pail, but there was no weight attached to it, just the texture of wood and a very slight pressure.

Out of curiosity he pushed on the sensation of the pail in his hands.

Ahead of him the pail moved forward by a foot, hovering steadily in the air without the slightest wobble

As Hisirdoux continued to stare at the pail of milk floating in midair; a giddy smile slowly spread across his face.

This was wonderful! Amazing! Hisirdoux was never going to spill or break anything ever again! Why hadn’t mother or father told him that you could carry things this way? Now he could carry all sorts of heavy things, no more being too small and clumsy to help. He needed--

The cold sensation started receding from his hands and the pail wobbled in midair; the blue light around it dimming. Hisirdoux quickly pushed the coldness back down into his palms, steadying the pail and brightening the light.

It looked like even though he could move heavy things this way without spilling or dropping them he still needed to focus and not let it fall.

But what an amazing discovery this was! He needed to show mother and tell her the good news.

Nudging the pail ahead of him, floating in its cloud of blue light, he hurried the rest of the way to old Gurdy’s house.

Once he got there Hisirdoux stepped in the door, letting the pail float a little ahead of him. None of the women so much as glanced at him, Gurdy’s house full of the sounds of them chopping, kneading, and baking various portions of the harvest. Even with all the people packed into the small space, it didn’t take long for Hisirdoux to spot the familiar dark braid and russet skirt he was looking for.

“Mother!”

She didn’t even turn to reply, merely kept pounding at the bread dough on the table in front of her “Not now Hisirdoux I’m busy,” 

Normally Hisirdoux did his best not to bother mother when she was busy doing important work, but news this good was worth an interruption “Mother look!”

Dropping the dough with a plop, she sighed and looked at him over her shoulder “Hisirdoux I told you I’m--”

She froze, eyes going wide.

Hisirdoux beamed proudly at her, floating the pail right in front of him “Look at what I can do!”

Her mouth dropped open wide, but instead of praise or a scold coming out it was a scream. A shrill, ear shattering scream. The other women started and turned at the sound, and when they saw him they began screaming too.

All the loud, sudden noises startled Hisirdoux, making him lose his grip on the blue light and the buzzing vanished. Pail falling down to the floor. All the joy from being able to show mother his new discovery gone.

What was wrong, why was everyone screaming? What was happening?

Aunt Molly broke free from the rest of the wailing women and ran up to him, grabbing his shoulders “Hisirdoux who told you how to do that!”

He just stared at her mutely, everything had changed so fast he couldn’t keep up with what was happening.

“ _How did you know how to do that!_ ” Molly shrieked, shaking him as she did.

Suddenly a wave went through the women as old Gurdy collapsed to the ground. Everyone in the room was scurrying around now, most women were either fluttering around old Gurdy or screaming at him with Molly.

Hisirdoux heard these things happening all around him, but he was still focused on the pail, on all the milk draining out onto the floor, churned and mixed into the dirt by dozens of careless feet as people rushed from either side of the room. 

An entire pail full of milk spilled, wasted.

Why was no one doing anything about it? Why were they shouting at him? Why didn’t they care about the milk?

He was still watching the white liquid soaking away into the dirt when from out of nowhere his mother grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out the door; practically yanking his arm out of its socket. Hisirdoux was too stunned to do anything but stumble after her.

Buildings moved rapidly by them as mother all but ran with him through the village. Hisirdoux swiveled his head from side to side. Watching with wide eyes as from behind them the shouts and screams of the women in old Gurdy’s house slowly began to spread, until it seemed like everyone in the village was wailing and running around.

Without warning his mother hurried into the smithy, pulling Hisirdoux behind her. Johan, clearly startled, looked up from his anvil at them “What is the meaning of--”

Whatever words he had to say were lost as Hisirdoux’s mother released his wrist, sending him stumbling into a pile of loose firewood, and rushed up to the anvil, speaking with the blacksmith in low, hushed whispers.

Immediately Johan’s face went gaunt, he spared a quick look at Hisirdoux before ducking his head and exchanging more muffled words with his mother. Starting to gather some of his tools as he did.

Hisirdoux slowly sat up, curious eyes on the adults. From outside he heard the hustle of more adults in the village shouting and running around. One of them abruptly rushing in.

He let out a small gasp.

It was father. 

But why was father here, right now? Didn’t all the men need to hurry and get all the animals ready before winter? Didn’t he have important work to do?

“I came as soon as I could,” he hurried over to Johan and mother, glancing at Hisirdoux as he did.

Hisirdoux felt the breath catch in his chest when he saw his father’s face. 

Once when talking to his mother and Aunt Molly, old Grudy had called his father a ‘Stoic-serious-stick-in-the-mud’, when Hisirdoux had asked what that meant the three of them had chuckled before Gurdy said that it only meant his father wasn’t the type of person to get worked up or lose his temper easily. And when he thought about it, Hisirdoux deemed her words to be correct. His father’s face rarely shifted from his normal, solemn expression. Every once and a while Hisirdoux had seen him frown, and even let out a rare laugh. But he’d never seen his father look like this before.

For the first time Hisirdoux had ever seen, father actually looked...frightened.

Tearing his gaze away, father spoke to mother and Johan in a hoarse voice “Is it...is it true?”

“Yes,” mother replied sharply “I saw it with my own eyes, along with my sister, Gurdy, and half of the women in the village,”

Father grew pale, the fear on his face deepening rather than fading back into his normal sternness “By god….”

Johan peeked at Hisirdoux from the corner of his eye before grabbing his tongs and pulling both of them in closer, the adults’ conversation continuing in low tones he couldn’t hear.

Hisirdoux watched them silently, stomach twisting uncomfortably.

He didn’t understand what was happening, why was father afraid? Why were the adults acting so strange? What did he do wrong? He was just carrying the pail.

More men walked through the entrance towards Johan and mother and father, their arms were full of something but he couldn’t quite see what. All the adults drew in tighter together as they joined the hushed conversation, one of them glancing back at him every now and again, only bits and pieces of their words rising loud enough for him to hear.

“Never thought it possible--”

“--always kept a good eye out for this devilry,”

“He’s never shown signs before--”

“--have to stop the evil from spreading,”

Abruptly clanging sounds started coming from the center of their cluster and drowned out their words, more bangs of metal on metal rang out as Hisirdoux saw Johan’s shoulders start to heave. Clearly working on something on the anvil.

His stomach lurched dangerously and he felt a chill sweep over him.

What were they talking about? And what were they making? He’d never seen all the adults in the village act like this before, what was going on? 

Fighting against the tremble in his limbs, Hisirdoux shakily got to his feet “Mother, Father, what’s wrong?” he said softly.

No one moved. If they heard him they were ignoring him.

Taking a timid step forward, voice just a hair louder, he asked again “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

Again, no response.

Desperation weighing out over manners, Hisirdoux reached out and tugged on Mother’s skirt.

“Mo--”

A burst of pain and then he was laying sprawled on the ground, half of his face throbbing. Getting a glimpse of his mother turning back into the knot of adults.

He gingerly touched his stinging cheek, slowly sitting up.

Had Mother...hit him?

Hisirdoux didn’t want to believe it was possible, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation for what had just happened.

Mother and father had scolded him before, yelled at him, sent him to bed without supper; but they’d never struck him, not once.

He started to tremble all over, heartbeat thrashing in his ears, pulsing in time with the ache in his cheek.

It was only now that Hisirdoux started to realize that something was really _really_ wrong.

The bangs and clangs came from where the adults were clustered abruptly ceased, more coarse whispers coming up instead.

“--think there’s enough?”

“--rush job but it will do,”

“-it’s the only way to contain Fae beasts,”

“They’re ready as they’ll ever be, grab him,”

All of them snapped their eyes towards him, Hisirdoux shrinking under the force of their gazes. 

Why were they all staring at him like this? Why did they all look so angry? What did he do wrong?

The beginnings of tears started to burn in the back of his eyes as he sat pinned under their glares, too frightened to do anything but tremble in place. 

He wanted to run, hide, be far away from here. He wanted everything to be normal again and for the adults to not stare so angrily at him. 

Father breaking away from the knot of people around the anvil and stomping towards him snapped Hisirdoux out of his frozen state. Stumbling to his feet and trying to dart towards the exit, but before he could get far father grabbed him by the wrist, gripping so tight it forced out the tears that had been building up out of Hisirdoux’s eyes, and started dragging him towards the anvil.

“Father I-- I’m sorry,” he managed to stutter out “I won’t do it again, please I’m sorry--”

He might as well be apologizing to stone. Father grabed his other wrist and yanked Hisirdoux off his feet, forcing down both of his arms over the anvil.

Hisirdoux was never _ever_ supposed to touch the anvil or any of Johan’s tools. They were dangerous and he could be badly hurt or even killed by them. Everyone in the village knew that.

So why had father thrown him on it?

_Helping the men of the village with the fishing catch last summer, watching Uncle Kai take them from the net. Throwing the wiggling fish onto the wooden board one at a time and beheading them with one swift chop of the cleaver._

Hisirdoux squirmed and twisted, fighting to get away with everything he had. Feet flailing uselessly in the air, whimpering from the bruising pressure on his arms and the strain in his shoulders from being held up over the anvil.

“Mother-- Father-- please I’m sorry, “ he managed to hiccup out “Please let me go-- I won’t do it again,” he didn’t even know what he was promising not to do, he just wanted father to let him go and for everything to stop.

They all ignored him, Johan looking over and addressing his mother instead “They’re all set, if he’s truly the devil’s spawn we’ll know soon enough,”

She gave him nod, face grim “Do it,”

Johan reached over and picked up something Hisirdoux couldn’t see, heart threatening to beat out of his chest as the blacksmith loomed over him with the mystery objects.

He squeezed his eyes shut, terror reaching its peak and making him go completely limp in his fathers grip. Praying that whatever was coming wouldn’t be more painful than he could bear.

For an instant he felt cool metal against his skin.

And then white hot agony burned to life on his wrists.

Hisirdoux screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed as hot, scorching pain seared into his wrists and crawled up his arms, getting hotter and hotter by the second. 

Once when he’d been helping mother make stew, despite the many warnings she’d given him, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and Hisirdoux had reached out to touch the bare metal of the cauldron. Causing a flicker of hot pain to flare up on his fingertip. 

Back then most of the pain had vanished the instant he jerked away, leaving only a dull throb in the pad of his finger. 

This time the heat from the metal around his wrists was _so_ much hotter. And no matter how much he thrashed and twisted under the metal bands on his wrists. He could not. _Get. Them. Off!_

In the tiny part of him that wasn’t swallowed up by agony, he noticed the arms holding him release, and the ground rushing up to meet him. He knew that there were still other people in the smithy standing around him, but they all seemed so very far away.

Hisirdoux was far beyond caring about either of these things. Too far gone to care that he was laying sprawled in the dirt floor or even beg the adults to take the metal off. His entire world consumed by the searing heat in his wrists. He wailed, faintly aware of gritty dirt pressing against his cheek as he bawled against the ground, flailing and clawing at the metal cuffs, desperate to get away the fiery heat burning on his arms.

As time crawled on the pain didn’t subside, but little by little, his wild thrashing on the ground slowed and eventually stopped. No matter how much he pawed at them the metal cuffs wouldn’t come off. If anything moving made it worse, burning on his wrists hotter and hotter, sending bolts of white hot agony throbbing up his arms.

Hisirdoux laid there slack on the ground, eyes shut tight and still whimpering in pain. Exhausted and trembling and trying desperately to not so much as twitch and send another jab of pain through his arms. Small and shuddering on the floor of the smithy.

He didn’t know how long he laid there like that but eventually someone, who he didn’t know, grabbed the collar of his shirt and started hauling him towards the door.

The movement brought a fresh wave of pain, wringing a sob out of Hisirdoux, too weak to do anything but cry as he was dragged away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to imply as much but just to clear up any doubt I'll say it explicitly. The adults did NOT put hot metal on Douxie's wrists. What they did was hastily bang together a pair of cuffs from whatever iron they had laying around that they could spare. The reason they burned Douxie so badly was because they were cold iron, which can be used to negate magic. Douxie had touched iron before the events of this chapter, but because he hadn't fully come in to his magical abilities, he didn't react to the iron. This also means that the iron cuffs were put on Douxie when he was the absolute most vulnerable to iron, minutes after he'd awakened his magic.
> 
> I'm going to go into more detail about how iron works against magic users later in the story.
> 
> Next time: We go back to modern times to see how Merlin's doing.


End file.
